


City of Black and White

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they hit it head first, in a head-on collision, and Niall's the one who gets hurt, the one who goes flying through the windshield—Niall, the one they've tried to hard to protect, defend, because even though he's not the youngest, he's the one they love the most though they'd never say it out <i>loud.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	City of Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Mat Kearney's "City of Black and White"

Niall's whiter than usual, skin stretched translucent and too tight across his bony cheekbones, the expanse of his back knobbly and bent delicately, too shallow, too fragile, like he might _snap_ any second. Harry doesn't really notice until one day he glances over and Niall is nodding off in the back of an interview, nestling into the couch next to him, eyes fluttering shut. He nudges Niall in the side, making him return his attention back to the interviewer, and Niall jerks abruptly, mouth stretched in an large yawn. Harry finds himself staring at Niall's arms. They're not defined, with sinewy biceps and lithe muscles the way he's used to seeing them—Niall's arms are thin, lanky and bony, and something runs through Harry's chest, a bit uncertain.

They've noticed before—Paul's asked Niall about it, but the tour's been long, they've been working hard—twelve hour, fourteen hour days. They barely have time to eat, sleep, and they're all worn thin, and they're all exhausted. Zayn sleeps every chance he can get,—Harry found him curled up on the coffee table yesterday like a napping kitten—Louis loads himself with a steady stream of sugar that's been contributing to a bit more tummy than usual, Liam's been more irritable and impatient lately, and Harry walks through every day like he's staring through the lens of a dirty microscope—everything blown out of proportion and foggy and distorted. But Niall looks thin, like he's wasting away, and Harry notices the purple stippled under his eyelids, his bloodless face.

“You alright, Nialler?” he asks, later that night, ruffling Niall's hair playfully, propping his chin onto Niall's shoulder. He breathes in Niall's familiar scent—a mixture of laundry detergent and boy and the slight cologne that Niall must have borrowed from Zayn—and okay, maybe they're too close to each other, but then again they've always been. Everyone in this fucking band is _gay_ for one another (but not really, it's complicated, and he'd rather accept it than explain it). There's that funny feeling balling up in his stomach—the one that's been there for awhile now, maybe for the last month or so—that he hasn't quite determined, but it's not unpleasant, just feels like a torrent of butterflies rushing through his gut, and it's kind of nice actually, as warmth cocoons around his heart.

“'M tired,” Niall murmurs, nuzzling Harry back, eyes blinking closed sleepily. “I dun think I can go out tonight.”

“You hungry?” Harry asks, brushing his nose against the nape of Niall's neck, then moving more forward, more impulsive—brushing his eyelashes against Niall's cheek. He's a bit worried because Niall's the one who wanted to go out first—sure it was Louis's idea, but Niall was so gung-ho that he was the one who got the rest of the boys on board.

“Nah,” Niall whispers, and Harry can practically taste the exhaustion radiating off of him, heavy and thick and musty waves in the air. “I just wanna sleep.”

“Want me to come with you?” Harry asks, brows furrowed in concern. He cares about Niall—yeah, he cares about all the boys, but somehow Niall especially—and the blonde must be coming down with something and Harry's not okay with that.

“No,” Niall answers, rather abruptly. He shrugs Harry's arm off of him, and waves absently at the brunette. “No, go out with the boys. Don't wanna ruin your night too. 'M fine.”

“'K,” Harry replies, unsure, as Niall stumbles off to bed. He doesn't feel like it's right, but he doesn't know what to do, so he lets Niall go and gets ready to go out with the rest of the boys. He makes a note to himself to tell Paul that maybe Nialler needs to see the doctor.

________________________

They're so busy the next day that the thought slips his mind. They've got two interviews in the morning and then a show at night, and the same for the next day, and the next day after that, and they barely have time to eat and breathe and think, and Harry forgets about how thin Niall's become and how Niall hasn't been feeling well until it's too late.

Harry sees it almost before it happens. They're in the middle of the show, and Liam and Louis are dancing along—Louis playfully smacking Liam's bum, and Liam pretending to be offended while flushing crimson all over. Harry's laughing, and he glances over to where Niall is jostling aside Zayn, and then Niall's solo is up.

Niall's clutching his guitar and the microphone, and all of the sudden, he staggers, and he _falls._

Niall's knees buckle from under him, his guitar crashing into the hard floor, and Harry registers the sound of his body as he collapses. Niall falls off the stage, and Harry watches, mouth dry with horror, heart pounding rapidly in his chest as though it might just burst—like it's a caged bird struggling to get free. He watches as Zayn throws his microphone to the side and dives into the ocean of fangirls to rescue the small, pale body, and Harry watches them get torn apart and wonders _why why why why._

________________________

At the hospital, both Zayn and Niall have to be seen by the doctors. Harry's shaken, remembering Niall's limp body loaded into the stretcher of the ambulance, blood pouring profusely from a gash in his head, a dark purple bruise on the underside of his neck. He remembers Zayn, arms scratched through the skin, punctured fingernail marks and scrapes on his face. He remembers the security guards screaming at the fans to back the fuck up, and he remembers standing between Louis and Liam. Louis's hand on the small of his back to reassure him, and ashen-faced Liam on the other side, lip nearly gnawed through in worry. They watched Zayn holding Niall's hand as he fought his way into the back of the ambulance even though the paramedics wanted Zayn on his own stretcher.

Niall's so still and so pale and _small_ and Harry can't stop thinking about how he should have told Paul Niall needed to see a doctor, but he didn't, and this is all his fault.

When they arrive at the emergency room, Zayn and Niall go straight in while Liam flutters around like an anxious father asking everyone if he can get them coffee, food, what can I do, let me help you, _let me help you_ , but they don't know what to do and he really can't do anything. So Liam paces back and forth, hands clawing into his scalp until Louis tells him Liam stop it with the fucking walking because you're giving us all massive headaches.

Liam doesn't even take the bait because like Harry, he knows that Louis only becomes nasty when he's worried, and they're all worried, and Louis's fingers won't stop tapping out a pattern on the edge of the chair, and his eyes look so vacant Harry knows he's trying hard not to break down.

Harry feels bloody pathetic about it—like he's a little girl—but he can't stop crying. The tears work their way up from the bottom of his soul, squeezing through his eyes in hot torrents, and he's crying so hard not even Louis or Liam can get him to stop.

And then Zayn comes out with a few bandages over his battlewounds from the fans (who were determined to nearly rip his limbs off—who are they why is this allowed this is so wrong), and he's hobbling around on crutches, and he looks drained and a little worse for the wear, but the doctor says he'll be alright. Liam and Louis and Harry hug him in relief, but Harry can't stop thinking about Niall, where is Niall is he going to be okay tell him now tell him everything.

________________________

It feels like centuries later when they finally shuffle into the pristine, cold, white hospital room. Liam is looking everywhere, trying to understand what is happening and how he can help, and Louis isn't cracking jokes—his eyes devoid of their normal sparkle and his lips drawn into a thin, tight line, and Zayn is struggling with his crutches, and Harry, Harry—his whole world seems to stop when he looks at Niall in the hospital bed. Niall's there, under thin white sheets and a thin, blue hospital johnny. Niall's nestled under the covers and he looks young and scared and thin, and Harry hates himself because he should have remembered to tell Paul Niall needed a doctor.

“You alright, Nialler?” Liam asks automatically, his voice authoritative and worried because he's the responsible one, he's the sensible one, and he needs to be told what to do to help. His body is tensed, shoulders squared and Harry can hear the intensity of his exhales, as though if he breathes hard enough he'll convince himself he sounds normal.

Niall hears him, feels the presence of all of them in his room. He looks up at them then, and Harry zeroes in on his red-rimmed eyelids, the sparkling tears that he hasn't shed, and his heart nearly drops out of his chest. Niall looks at them and his voice is hoarse and lined with misery, and he finally manages to get out, “Doctor... doctor says I've got cancer,” and Harry definitely feels the floor slide out from under him and everything falls apart.

________________________

Acute lymphoblastic leukemia.

The doctor calls it A-L-L, three quick syllables that roll off the tongue. Three words that are dangerous, rearing up in front of them like headlights, bold like a stop sign, but they're in a car that's skidding dangerously out of control, and they can't stop.

So they hit it head first, in a head-on collision, and Niall's the one who gets hurt, the one who goes flying through the windshield—Niall, the one they've tried to hard to protect, defend, because even though he's not the youngest, he's the one they love the most though they'd never say it out _loud._

And Niall is sick with acute lymphoblastic leukemia and everything falls apart.

________________________

The plans are made pretty quickly. Management wants them to finish the rest of the tour without Niall—who's immediately scheduled for his first round of chemotherapy—but Niall refuses. He's adamant, roaring out his protests, so vicious that there's no choice but to agree.

He makes it through eleven shows before he has to stop.

His voice is wrecked. Every note practically rattles in his throat, drawn thin and stretched too far—just like his skin, and he looks sickly, wrapped in white tees that are too big for his diminishing frame.

Niall doesn't move like he used to, he doesn't have the energy. He doesn't bounce on the balls of his feat, leap up in the air to collect the screams of the fans. His fingers slip on his guitar strings, he looks drawn, eyes sallow. Every show he's thinner, _thinner,_ face gaunt, wrists shrinking, and they're all afraid he might just _disappear._

The day Niall hits his breaking point is the same day he has his first round of chemotherapy. He leaves the hospital a trembling, rattled mess, and right before the show, Louis finds Niall with his arms wrapped around the toilet vomiting like he'll never stop. He can't keep anything down, not even water—it just all comes back up—and he's miserable and whiny, and he goes on weak, trying to pretend everything's okay when they all know he's lying. Nialler's always been a shit liar, and they can read him like he's the lyrics to one of their songs.

“You have to quit, Ni,” Louis says, voice uncharacteristically gentle, soft, sad, one day when they've finished the fourth show, and Niall's quaking so hard Harry's afraid he might fracture any second. “Niall, the band's not going anywhere. The dream's still here, you... you just need to take care of yourself first.”

“I don't wanna stop.” Niall's answer is stubborn, petulant, like a child, and Harry wants to yell at him the way they used to whenever they had a disagreement, but ever since Niall got the news, they haven't been treating him the same—everyone's been tiptoeing around him like if they say something wrong or make Niall upset, the invisible disease will spread that much faster, unraveling in and ravishing his body, taking over it, wearing Niall like a costume. “No, I'm gonna keep going.”

“Louis's right, Nialler. Your health is what's most important right now.” Liam sounds almost guilty as he sits down next to Niall, wraps an arm around his shoulders gently. Niall pushes him off roughly 

“Fuck off,” Niall spits, and he sounds angry, belligerent. He shoves Liam roughly in the chest, but his push doesn't hold any strength in it, and Liam just looks sad and doesn't react which makes Niall even more incensed. “Seriously, fuck off, guys.”

Zayn and Harry watch the exchange, Harry's eyes wide, Zayn tense, as Niall glares at all of them.

“Can't believe you guys are trying to get _rid_ of me,” Niall says, voice a slight whimper, sounding defeated, and Zayn buts in automatically, “Christ, Ni, we're not trying to get rid of you, you're gonna _kill_ yourself. Ni, we just want to make sure you live-”

But he's cut off by a hoarse, racking cough from Niall. Niall's body is hunched over, bared in relentless pain, and his eyes are screwed shut, and he's coughing, _hacking_ into his fist, and Harry freezes when he sees that Niall's hand is crimson—

When Niall starts coughing up blood, Liam runs straight to call Paul, while Zayn and Harry run straight to Niall's side. Harry feels absolutely useless, helpless, as he watches Zayn run small circles on Niall's back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and Harry doesn't know what to do. Louis starts to cry, shoulders trembling with abandon, face buried in his hands, and Harry doesn't think he's ever been more scared in his life.

________________________

Harry doesn't know how it happens, but one day when he's curled up next to Liam on the sofa and they flip on the telly, the headline is screaming that NIALL HORAN OF ONE DIRECTION HAS CANCER.

Liam's up in a flash, hands clenched at his side, teeth nearly bared, eyes squared in concern. Harry's heart is thudding in his chest, because how could they find out, _how could they?_ They've kept everything under the wraps, everyone's been sworn to secrecy, but they find out _everything_ —maybe the doctor was bribed, maybe the pap overheard a conversation, maybe a sick fan broke into the hospital logging system.

The tabloids—which have already been suspecting something's wrong ever since Niall fell off the stage—go mad. The fans start trending #NiallHasCancer and #NotNiall on Twitter, and Tumblr crashes. The hospital has to post security guards outside when Niall goes in for chemotherapy because these stupid people try to follow him in, they lack the decent respect, and Harry wants to scream at them, rip all of the paps and the fans to shreds and scream at them don't you see you're gonna break him, he can't take that much more, what is _wrong_ with you? You're gonna break him, you're going to wreck him, are you _happy_ now?

________________________

All of them are there the day Niall's hair first falls out. It's a huge chunk of white-blonde hair with dark chocolate roots at the bottom, frayed, arching up into gold. Niall sits there, blue eyes wide with disbelief, fingers trembling around the strands of hair.

“Oh shit,” Liam cusses and he's there, running steady hands over Niall's back, soothing him, and whispering that things are going to be okay, this is okay, Niall, you're gonna beat this, you're gonna be okay.

But Niall... Niall is crying so softly Harry can hardly hear him, but he can see how his thin frame is shaking, and it feels like someon'e kicked Harry in the stomach.

“Hand me the razor,” Niall manages, pointing at the sharp, silver-tipped black razor next to his bedside, and Louis's eyes grow to the size of saucers, and Harry just thinks _no no no._

“One of you, help me,” Niall stammers, shuddering, tears trickling down his face. Liam stares at all the boys like they're traitors when nobody makes a move, because why is he the only one who's gonna do this, and this isn't fair, and they're not old enough for this yet. They're adults but they're not, they're just boys, they're just kids, and Niall hasn't even turned twenty and this isn't happening.

Niall glares at all of them when nobody moves, mouth downturned in a determined frown, face awash with pain. He grabs the razor himself, swings himself weakly out of the hospital bed, and stalks to the bathroom, every limb trembling weakly, the rest of the boys crowding around him, guilt carved into their features.

Harry watches as Niall plugs the razor into the wall, turns it on. He hears the sound of the razor buzzing maniacally, and watches aghast as Niall brings the blades up to his head, runs the device through his thinning hair. Niall glances down as another clump of hair falls to the floor. He's trembling so hard Harry can see how his shirt—or maybe it's Harry's it might be Harry's, Niall's always liked to take his clothes—bags around his chest and suddenly Niall's face crumples and he's sobbing.

Zayn appears, practically materializing next to him. He pries the razor for Niall's fingers, fiddling with the machine in his own hands.

“It's okay, Nialler,” Zayn says, voice low and soft and soothing like a brick of dark chocolate, so in tune, so mature when all the rest of the boys just stare in shock. “It's okay, Ni. It's just hair.”

“Easy for you to say,” Niall spits back, venomous. And this isn't Niall, but the toxic cancer's come and infected him, made him into a monster, broken all of them and laughing at the destruction it's left behind. Or maybe it's slithered away silently, and Harry would rather it laugh, mock them, so at least then he could catch it and kill it. But it's come in, silent, deadly, burning cities behind it, and Harry never knew that he could hate something this much, and now there's Zayn, eyes soft and open as he gazes at Niall.

“It's okay, Ni,” Zayn repeats, and he sounds defeated but not angry. “It's just hair, see?”

And then there's Zayn, Zayn, Zayn with his beautiful dark hair, his beautiful thick quiff, his pride and his joy and his glory. And Zayn's running the razor through his own hair, and the boys are watching as the dark strands fall, cascade to the floor, pool around his feet.

Harry hears Louis's sharp intake of breath, Liam tensing next to him. He can hear his heart pounding in his throat, the drip of Niall's tear as it hits his shirt, but Zayn is surprisingly calm. He just buzzes the razor through his hair until he's done, and his head is smooth and bare, and he squeezes Niall's shoulder. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, runs his hand over his bald head, doesn't even flinch.

“See, it's just hair, Ni. It's okay.”

________________________

They all shave their heads after that, because how can they _not?_ Zayn took the initiative, cut off something so definitely _Zayn_ that it makes the rest of them think it will be okay.

Harry feels lighter than he's ever had before. The wind brushes over his scalp, playing with his skin. He feels almost weightless, like he's walking on air. The boys tuck themselves into beanies, watch as fangirls around them cut off their hair to support Niall.

Harry's accustomed to reaching up, feeling his trademark curls. He's used to being surrounded by something fluffy, warm, a constant, and now he's here, bare and bald and open, but it's okay.

After all, it's just hair, it'll grow back.

_Not for Niall_ , floods up in the back in Harry's mind, _Niall's isn't gonna grow back,_ Harry thinks, but he makes himself to swallow hard, swallow the bitter metallic taste, lets himself pretend and try to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this several months ago and I wasn't quite sure where to take it. I know how I want it to end and what I want to happen, but I wasn't sure about the relationships--I was tied between Niall/Harry and a Niall-centric OT5 from all of their POVs. Anyways, guidance would be appreciated; I'll probably be taking this down since it's not quite finished, but any feedback you have would be so loved x


End file.
